


The Dance of Ice and Fire

by Christina_Potter_09



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bran reaches winterfell early, Canon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Dragonriders, F/F, F/M, Jon is a Targaryen, Major Characters deaths, Margaery Tyrell Lives, Other, Sex, Smut, Viserion Deserved Better, Warg Bran Stark, Warging, Westerosi Politics, all the themes we loved got for, and everything we were robbed of, and it matters, and it matters!, because I just love her and she's precious, benjen stark has a role, dance of dragons, everyone deserved better, everyone has a decent role, everything we were promised, fix it all fic, from s7x01 on, gendrya after a point and on, he reveals the truth, jonsa, not dany friendly but with reasons, of season 7 & 8, poljon, polsansa, rhaegal deserved better, some not, some things will remain from the last two seasons, the little bird thing between sansa and cersei will have a damn closure, the night king has a role and a reason!, this is the fic we all need, to fix the mess of the last seasons, to the bone, wolves are coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christina_Potter_09/pseuds/Christina_Potter_09
Summary: Bells tolling surrender.The city and the palace collapsing under dragonfire.Children, little children burnt.A crime made untimely.A world saved.A Wolf becomes no one again.The true Heir to the Iron Throne is no more, just like the throne itself.Six Kingdoms under a broken raven that was never to be Lord of anything.The Red Wolf is alone, adorned with the ghosts of her past.The Lone Wolf dies, but the Pack Survives.Bran’s gasp was sharp, choking him, he struggled to draw breath as Meera rushed close to him.‘We must reach Winterfell the soonest.’ Bran for the first time sounded full of emotion, one emotion in particular: despair.Bran arrives in Winterfell the moment a raven from Dragonstone reaches Jon and Sansa, carrying a summon with a demand to bend the knee. The secret of Jon's birth now becomes valuable information while the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell are surrounded by enemies. Jon wishes to win the Battle for the Dawn by any means necessary, while Sansa wants for both of them to end this War victorious in a Game that you win or you die... there is no middle ground.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 126
Kudos: 171





	1. The King in the North

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abi117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi117/gifts).



> welcome to a new story!!!! here we're gonna do the hardest of tasks, FIX EVERYTHING!!!!  
> i'm excited and terrified in equal measures  
> this fic wouldn't be possible without the help of abi117, this fic is hers as much as it's mine as this is a labour of our love for jonsa and got in general. i'm writing it but she's there every step of the way...  
> credit to the hubby who helped with the summary, the hardest part of all fics
> 
> so to clear some things up, as the tags say, not dany friendly but with reasons, marg lives because yes, jonsa to the bone, we'll fix everything, i will do my best to fix all the stupid things we saw in seasons 7 and 8, some things will happen as in the show, some things will happen in a completely different way! erase all the eyerolls you gave while watching canon and let me take you to a jonsa trip down the ficland!
> 
> Enjoy!

_The Dance of Ice and Fire_

_By CP09 & Abi117_

_Chapter 1 - The King in the North_

_‘The King in the North!’_

_‘The King in the North!’_

The castle of Winterfell still echoed with the voices of the Northern Lords declaring Jon their King. After the heated moments a feast followed the ascend of the White Wolf, and then silence, at least in the Lord’s chambers, where currently; the King and his sister, the Lady of Winterfell, enjoyed a cup of ale in each other’s company. The day had been tense but they had calmed down eventually, after all, they had only each other to truly trust and the entirety of the North to rule.

No one would think ill of Jon Snow and Sansa Stark spending time in private. Not after the close quarters they had shared during their wander around the North to join arms for reclaiming Winterfell. Not after the lengths King Jon reached to restore his sister’s honor before the horrors inflicted upon her by the Boltons. 

‘I want Alys Karstark and Ned Umber to be your bannermen.’ Jon’s voice snapped Sansa out of her thoughts, the subject had been reason for strife that very morning but now his voice was calmer, soft. Sansa glanced at Jon, waiting for him to continue. 

‘I want you to have an eye on them, yours is sharper than mine on traitors… and although they are happy for their restore, I want you to watch over them… Arrange marriages for them both to other houses,’ Sansa only nodded at her brother’s words, she wouldn’t show how satisfied she felt at his validation, at Jon finally listening to her, trusting her where she hadn’t with the Knights of the Vale, to her regret. 

‘As you wish,’ Sansa nodded with a smile, appreciating the new duty that Jon rested upon her. ‘Littlefinger didn’t like the idea of you becoming King,’ Sansa’s voice was calm and honest, her eyes however sharp; looking at the roaring fire before her, once more. She would have the chambers after Jon’s insistence, although she struggled to fight the shiver at the idea of Roose Bolton and his wife residing in the same room her own parents stayed. 

‘Why would he…?’ Jon wondered with a heavy sigh. He knew Sansa and he were the only front that mattered and had to remain united, the only pack remaining. ‘He has an eye on you…’ he pointed out uneasily; unable to hold his ire. ‘And he’s always thirsty for power…’ he added and this time; he looked at Sansa, his dark eyes locking with her sky blue gaze. ‘What do you think he’s up to?’ He had considered her words that afternoon, he valued them, so he was open and listening to her insight. He had meant his words, about trust, about the enemies around them, South and North of Winterfell… and he would practice what he preached. He waited for her as she set her cup on the small table between them and the fireplace. 

‘Treason, after tying me to him through marriage.’ Sansa deadpanned, her eyes never leaving Jon’s; even when the frown framed his face. 

‘ _No one_ is marrying you.’ Jon barked the words, his voice a gruff command. ‘Not unless you want to get… married.’ he hastily added, as uneasy as before, Jon cleared his throat and finally averted his gaze, glaring at the cup of ale in his hands. 

Suddenly it tasted worse than the one he had shared with Sansa at Castle Black. 

‘They say the third time's the charm…’ Sansa only half joked and reached for Jon’s hand before he could protest, unclasping it from its vice grip around the poor wooden cup, she squeezed his palm. 

Jon let her, enjoying the familiar touch, craving it even though he shouldn’t, not so fiercely anyway.

‘Winterfell is ours… you’re King in the North. There’s no better place for me but here, by your side.’ Sansa’s voice was warm, she wished with all her might that he indeed forgave her for not telling him of the Knights of the Vale. She hoped she could trust people again, like she once naively had trusted her enemies so easily. Only now, she had reasons to trust Jon, he had done his best for her, for their home, for the North.

He had bled for her, he had promised to protect her. And he had kept his promise. 

‘Sansa…’ her name was a mere murmur as he raised her hand and kissed her cool fingers, he had kissed her warm forehead, he was glad she didn’t flinch at the close contact after what she had been through. He was happy, she seemed comfortable and accepting enough to smile down at him softly. He smiled back at her and finally nodded his head, looking back at the fire himself, preferring to keep to himself whatever he had wished to add. They had been accustomed to such stretches of silence, in the camp while roaming the North and afterwards, back in their home. They could rest and relax only in each other’s company, where they didn’t have to pretend about anything at last. 

‘However… your claim to the North would become stronger if you took a Northern wife...’ Sansa jested after a moment, breaking the comforting silence -and her thoughts while watching him, imagining him with a wife by his side gave her an eerie, almost painful pung in her stomach, she fought it- breaking their hands’ hold as well. Jon chuckled, rolling his eyes before looking at her. A teasing smirk already on her features. Such talks were easier sometimes, less uncomfortable, less worrisome and aching. ‘Maybe one of Lord Manderly’s granddaughters…’ Sansa offered teasingly and Jon scoffed. 

‘I prefer Tormund.’ Jon teased back and Sansa feigned shock, clutching at her heart dramatically before she could start laughing with her head thrown back. Bathed in firelight, Jon could see the glistening lines of the old scars etched across Sansa’s collarbone. He fought the need to reach and trace his fingers on the jagged, tormented skin, his own laugh dying a little on his lips. 

‘Oh I knew it!’ Sansa was still laughing as she looked back at Jon, her own smile extinguished at the look she encountered when she laid her eyes on him. His own eyes were still with mirth, but also under a veil of sadness, of tenderness she hated to admit that caused her so much comfort and warmth, and maybe an ounce of pain too. She cleared her throat, drinking the last of her ale from the cup to break the moment somehow. As if mocking her, the cup had only a couple of drops rolling to her lips. Jon looked away after a moment, nodding to himself; he raised from his chair and stood close to her. 

‘I should go, we both need our rest, these were long days.’ Jon offered and Sansa nodded, before she could raise from her own seat to escort him to the door as her manners demanded, Jon lowered, towering her. His lips were warm on her forehead, she couldn’t help her eyes drifting closed at the feel of Jon’s lips on her skin, and the onslaught of emotion it ignited. He lingered for a moment more and once he finally moved, she was incapable of raising to follow or escort him, she was glad he didn’t look back, not until he actually reached for the door of her chambers, he looked back, giving that tiny smile he gifted people with so rarely. 

‘Sweet dreams, Sansa.’ his voice was barely audible but it was there all the same for her to hear.. 

_A raven reaching Winterfell. The Wolves separating from each other while He marches South._

_The White Wolf trapped by the Dragon while the Red Wolf is lone and in danger._

_The kingdoms are starving, people are desperate while the dragons destroy humans and goods, everything is surrendered in fire._

_A dragoness, a kraken and a viper, along a flower only with thorns upon it._

_One dragon is lost to the Darkness._

_The Wall collapses._

_He marches South._

_Strife, among families and friends, among the subjects and their King._

_And he marches South._

_The battle is barely won yet nothing is salvaged._

_The lioness awaits for the survivors, planting wildfire within the great city._

_The shadow of a dragon upon red brick roofs._

_The carcass of another dragon asore Blackwater Bay._

_Her children are almost gone, all scales and smoke and fire and blood._

_Bells tolling surrender._

_The final dragon screeching in aggravation._

_The massive palace collapsing under dragonfire._

_Burnt flesh, children, little children burnt._

_A crime made untimely._

_A continent saved._

_A Wolf becomes no one again._

_The true Heir to the Iron Throne is no more, just like the throne itself._

_Six Kingdoms under a broken raven that was never to be Lord of anything._

_The Red Wolf is alone, adorned with the ghosts of her past._

_The Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives._

Bran’s gasp was sharp, choking him, he struggled to draw breath as Meera rushed close to him, raising him to a sitting position. 

‘It’s alright, what did you see?’ Meera asked frantically. Bran looked around him, wishing his destroyed legs would make him stand, make him run like the wind, help him stop them from falling in the nightmare he saw unfolding, stopping them from winning the battles but losing the war. 

‘We must reach Winterfell the soonest.’ Bran for the first time in Meera wasn’t sure how long, sounded full of emotion, one emotion: desperation. 


	2. United

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made chap 1, they took as out of lockdown, I worked my ass off and now we're on the brink of another lockdown.... from 0 to 100 is very exhausting mentally and physically and watching the first two episodes of season 7 brought back all my got ptsd so just be informed that this story is going forward from now on, considering only a couple of things from 7x01 and 7x02

Chapter Two - United

‘My Lady,’ Alys Karstark stood meekly at the door of Sansa’s solar. Sansa looked up from the parchments she was reading. Storage units needed to be expanded, needed to be filled with grain, grain so hard to find in winter. 

‘Lady Karstark.’ Sansa acknowledged, still worried over the young woman’s loyalty and where it stood. She fought the urge, the _instinct_ to be suspicious, they had vowed, they had promised along the Umber boy… but, but they had fought for her tormentor. Everything before the word but is horseshit, Jon had said. Sansa sighed as she waited for the lady before her to speak. 

‘The King requests your presence, my Lady.’ Alys spoke with a weak voice, still afraid, Sansa couldn’t blame her, she had requested her punishment for treason after all, and all knew what that punishment meant. If Sansa had been heard, Houses Umber and Karstark would now be headless. 

Sansa stood from her seat, taking the parchments with her, she needed to speak with Jon anyway. She needed to find a sustainable plan for them to survive the Winter. If they were to win the wars against the Night King and Cersei Lannister, they also had to survive famine. 

She moved around her desk, parchments in her gloved hands and jaw set as she glanced at Alys before the door opened for her, the Umber boy was waiting just outside. Alys cleared her throat, mumbling another “my lady” wishing to draw Sansa’s attention. Sansa obliged, always did when courtesy was used as an armor, even against her. 

‘I, we know, you’re worried about us, but we meant our vows, we’re loyal to King Jon and House Stark, our pledge is truthful and noble.’ the woman spoke, daring to look at Sansa’s cold eyes. Sansa sighed, glancing at Brienne who was returning at her spot, by Sansa’s side, after her training, she was practically towering the Umber boy at the corridor. Sansa sighed, nodding her head. 

‘Loyalty, like respect are hard to be won, I know that first hand, Lady Karstark.’ Sansa spoke the words and wished this girl wasn’t as naive as she once was herself, or as cunning and distrusting as Sansa was now. All the many lessons she had taken from Cersei trained her mind to think on every word and action, on every vow, true or freigned. ‘The Winter that is upon us will be a good contest for those things to be won by your Houses again…’ Sansa finally added and exited the rooms, only to be followed by Brienne’s proud presence and the bowed headed Umber and Karstark. She reached the door of her brother’s chambers, the ones that belonged to Robb - since Jon’s rooms had always been away from the Stark children’s- and didn’t need to knock as the door opened for her to enter, finding Jon over several different small parchments. 

More ravens, like the one sent by Cersei Lannister, a few weeks ago. Jon’s frowned brow hid the emotions his eyes held as the door closed behind Sansa, leaving the two alone. 

Sansa had wished to complain to Jon about her new “people in waiting” as she had thought of them. Promising to find matches for the disgraced was one thing, having them tailing her all day was another, and although having Brienne with her at all times gave her confidence and safety, Umber and Karstark orbited around her just like Littlefinger and Sansa always valued privacy and silence that for now only Brienne granted her with. 

Yet, none of that mattered as Jon raised the small letters from the ravens in his hands while Sansa approached the desk of the King in the North. 

‘What are those parchments?’ Jon asked in his deep voice, glancing at the sheets in Sansa’s hands, she set them down on the desktop. 

‘Ideas and plans on the storages, what are those ravens?’ Sansa answered and countered the question, glancing at the letters. Jon sighed and picked one.

‘Cersei Lannister has united with Euron Greyjoy… He has a thousand ships.’ Jon’s new information had Sansa nod her head, with a heavy heart, she wondered what happened to Theon. Jon was looking at her, searching for a reaction she masked before the intensity of his gaze.

‘Along his sister Yara, Ellaria Sand, Olenna and Margery Tyrell, they have joined Daenerys Targaryen.’ as if reading her mind, Jon added. Sansa’s surprise must have shown as Jon nodded. ‘Your friend Margery survived Cersei’s attack on the Sept of Baelor.’ she could feel the warmth of his words for something that would make her happy although Sansa wasn’t sure if she indeed had a friend in Margaery Tyrell after all. She once wished the woman would have been like a sister to her, when she was a stupid girl with dreams, who never learnt. She had felt a pang of icy fear when she learnt of the explosion at the Sept and she had felt awe at the fury Olenna Tyrell must have shown but now she was secretly glad Margaery had survived. Jon reached for another letter, giving it to her. 

Her stomach kicked at the seal, the words and the meaning of them. Tyrion Lannister was inviting the King in the North to Dragonstone. 

‘You think it’s really Tyrion? It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap…’ Sansa’s gaze climbed from the letter to Jon who sighed. 

‘Read the last bit.’ he urged her, Sansa did just that. 

‘’All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.’’ Sansa read out loud, not sure what her first husband meant ‘What does that mean?’ she asked, wishing to know from Jon. 

‘It’s something he said to me the first night we met.’ he replied heavily, his eyes never leaving hers as he pointed his chin at the letter. ‘You know him better than any of us…’ Sansa could easily detect the uneasiness -if not anger- in Jon’s voice as the words left his mouth. ‘What do you think?’ She appreciated Jon’s need for her input yet again in this. She would be truthful with him, no matter how he felt over her first husband who at least had the decency not to exploit his child bride. 

‘Tyrion’s not like the other Lannisters…’ Sansa tried carefully, not wishing to sound too fond of yet another lion. Jon had seemed disappointed when he had told her she sounded as if admiring Cersei, and no matter if he had been truthful, she wanted Jon to be sure of her own loyalties and character. ‘He was always kind to me,’ she almost regretted the words she spoke as Jon’s eyes darkened with what she fiercely wanted to believe was brotherly concern. ‘But it’s too great a risk.’ she pivoted the conversation back to the letter. “The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne.’ she added out loud, reading the words. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny.” Sansa read out the last of the bit, skipping through the rest of the honey-coated words of the man she once thought the smartest alive. Becoming the Hand of the Dragon Queen, reaching Dragonstone of all places, just outside Blackwater Bay and King’s Landing were things Sansa wasn’t so sure of, if Tyrion’s ideas indeed, it felt like a Southern War would rage on and the North could keep out of it. Jon had been right after all, there was a thousand miles long distance between them and King’s Landing and both Lannister armies and the Dothraki and Unsullied were Summer Armies. 

‘This came too…’ Sansa glanced at Jon who passed her another letter. She took it and started reading quickly, Sam, Jon’s friend, she remembered him having told her about him. 

_“A mountain of dragonglass exists in Dragonstone. The First Men had used it to fight during the Long Night!”_ Were the words that caught Sansa’s attention, she read the sentence again and again before she threw the two rolls on the desk. 

‘You’re not actually considering the idea of going to meet with her?’ Sansa asked in disbelief, Jon’s momentary silence made her heart beat faster. ‘Jon…’ she urged, he sighed. 

‘I don’t know what I’m considering.’ he admitted curtly. ‘All I know is that she sits on a mountain of dragonglass and that she has three dragons that breathe the fire we need to kill the wights.’ Jon added in worry and sighed, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘All I know is that we need allies, powerful allies if we wish to survive this…’ Jon added exasperated and Sansa was glad this wasn’t yet another conversation between them with an audience of the rest of the North, they would come to a conclusion as a united front before talking to the Lords. 

‘I don’t need to remind you of what happened to our uncle and grandfather in her father’s hands.’ Sansa tried calmly. 

‘I know…’ Jon whispered. ‘But I must make her understand what is upon us so she can give us the Dragonglass, if not her armies and dragons too...’ Jon tried as calmly. Sansa took a deep breath. 

‘She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms… The North is one of those Seven Kingdoms… This isn’t an invitation, it’s a trap.’ Sansa added, the tension that seeped into her tone betrayed her agony over the prospect of losing Jon again. 

‘It could be, but I don’t believe Tyrion would do that.’ Jon added and this time Sansa scoffed, so much for trying to find a way of communication. ‘You know him. He’s a good man, you said so yourself.’ Jon added desperately and Sansa shook her head. 

‘I _hope_ I know him… I knew him before he brought the daughter of the Mad King, her dragons and savage armies to Westeros… I….’ Sansa sighed, wondering if she truly did know the man. ‘I can’t be sure I know him… But I know you, and I can’t lo- the North can’t lose you, Jon. You are their King!’ Sansa tried, tossing the letter on the desk, she rubbed her own face with her hand, they needed the silence to linger, their hearts to stop beating so frantically in their chests. Jon finally nodded. 

‘They crowned me King… I never wanted it, but I accepted it because the North is my home and you…’ Jon tried, moving from behind the desk, reaching for Sansa, taking her hand in his. ‘I had promised you I would protect you. I did my best with Ramsay and I must do the same now…’ Jon added and Sansa fought the hitch in her throat at the warmth that reached through her glove and onto her skin. ‘No matter the odds,’ Jon added, looking deep into her eyes. ‘But the odds are against us…’ he admitted. ‘I don’t want the army of the dead upon our home, upon the North or Winterfell or you…’ Jon’s words were low, for the first time. Sansa could admit they were frightened. ‘You haven’t seen the army of the dead… and I don’t want you to see it, I don’t want you to be threatened by it but all the same, they are marching towards us… I need to find a way even if I know it’s a risk… I have to take it.’ Jon added softly but Sansa couldn’t fight her fear anymore, the clear path South frightened more than the enemy North, more than anything. 

‘Then, if you realise it’s a risk, send an emissary, don’t go yourself!’ she pleaded this time, her own hand reaching for his other arm, if someone could see the two of them, they would look as if holding close and at the same time restraining each other. A picture of agony and fear, of care and protectiveness. 

‘Daenerys is a Queen… A righteous one if the tales are true…’ Jon tried to reason with Sansa. ‘Only a king can convince her to help us.’ Jon added and Sansa sighed. 

‘She’s also a woman, a woman in need of a court… I have done this before… I have survived the most dangerous court there is… let me go in your place.’ She was desperate at that point, Sansa tried every idea she could think of to stop him as his words sounded more and more final. He shook his head solemnly. 

‘You’re not to be put through more if I can help it.’ Jon demanded and Sansa scoffed. 

‘I have survived worse!’ Sansa countered back. Jon shook his head. 

‘Than the daughter of the Mad King and three dragons? Need me to remind you what happened to our grandfather?’ Jon mirrored her words, firing back at her, Sansa glared at him. 

‘Do not underestimate me like others have done, Jon. If you do, you will be wrong and this war-’

‘I’m not underestimating you!’ Jon cut her off once again, his expression guarded, his hand going for the side of her face, his eyes betrayed his torment as she leaned into his touch. ‘Don’t you understand? He asked desperately, struggling to find the words, his hand always gentle upon her. ‘This war needs to end with you alive. I would never put you in danger, you belong here, in the North, with our people.’ Jon was desperate, it hurt more than if he had shouted like she was by then. 

‘You’re abandoning these people, your people! You’re abandoning your home!’ _Me,_ she wanted to scream but she held her tongue, she was trying to detangle herself from him but he wasn’t letting go.

‘I’m leaving both in good hands…’ Jon added over her agitation, making her look wildly at him. 

‘Whose?’ she demanded for another clever answer.

‘Yours.’ he added calmly, finally looking down at her hands in his. ‘You are my sister,’ his tone was forced, as if trying to persuade both in the privacy of his rooms, Sansa felt like suffocating at the realisation of the proximity and closeness, at his words’ truth. ‘You’re the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours.’ he wasn’t only giving her more into ruling, he was passing the ruling a trueborn Stark should have over himself. He was giving her the rule so many had shed so much blood to win over, the rule she had bled for. 

He was giving her everything that was hers and everything that belonged to him. 

They jumped apart at the sudden knock on the door, a rapture in the atmosphere that had them separating instead of colliding, hands going back to their sides. Heads set straight as they faced the door that opened to show Brienne who as if she had sensed the tension; she glanced between them without commenting on anything. 

‘Your Grace, my Lady,’ Brienne nodded her head. ‘A guard came from the courtyard. There is a man at the gates, claiming to be Brandon Stark.’ The words had both Jon and Sansa glancing at each other for a long moment; before they could rush towards the door leading outside. 

The last roll lay forgotten upon Jon’s desk, the letter from the Twins claiming that Winter Came for House Frey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that convo should have been made in private but of course no, we had to have them bickering before everyone....   
> it is beyond me how Arya slaughtered House Frey and not a whisper reached Winterfell when she commanded the Frey woman to spread the word with the trademarks phrases of House Stark... like ok, I guess a minor poo before what happened in s7 and 8, I won't start, only fix as much as I can  
> next chapter:  
> the PARENTAL REVEAL WE DESERVE!  
> THE PARENTAL REVEAL WE PAID OUR TICKETS FOR  
> THE JONSA INTERRUCTION PRE AND POST AND DURING THE PARENT REVEAL WE WANT BECAUSE HE'S A STARK TO HER BEFORE IT WAS COOL ALRIGHT. THAnk you!


	3. You're a Stark to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blame wandavision and the never ending lockdown for my absence  
> blame wandavision and the never ending lockdown for me rushing back here
> 
> THE PARENTAL REVEAL!

Chapter Three - You’re a Stark to Me

Sansa’s breath was caught in her throat as she and Jon rushed through the corridors of their home, towards the courtyard. Brienne and guards were following them, along Alys Karstark and Ned Umber, she couldn’t care about anyone at that moment, hope and desperation suffocating her in equal measures. She saw Littlefinger showing up from a corner, following the gowing party that rushed outside, she wasn’t surprised, always lurking in the shadows, always using the eyes and ears in the walls of her very home. 

Snow was fresh, crunching under her boots as she and Jon approached the two lone figures by the closed gates. She hadn’t been sure of what she had expected but Sansa certainly didn’t expect the furclad, exhausted and warry faces of two children, a girl, wild and worried and the boy, or rather the young man on the slide. 

He seemed like Bran, crippled, dark eyes, brown hair, but his eyes, maybe it was age, or maybe it was whatever he had been through. The young man’s solemn gaze had nothing to do with the happy eyes her baby brother had in the past, before his fall, before everything. Yet she couldn’t help herself, desperate for her family, desperate for yet another Stark to be with them, especially after the loss of Rickon. Sansa reached forward, even if Jon tried to hold her back by holding her arm, his own grasp was weak before the boy resembling Bran. They knew it was him. She reached over the slide, hugging him tightly, a tiny whisper in her mind screamed for her naivety, he could have a dagger, he could harm her in his arms. But no, she pushed away the fear of contact, the fear of betrayal, she only whimpered as she wrapped her arms around the boy and sobbed when his own arms wrapped around her. 

‘Sansa…’ his voice had her nodding, their pack, its remains at least, were gathered together. She soon felt Jon’s arms around her body and around Bran, when she pulled away slightly Jon kissed Bran’s forehead and the young man smiled at her and at Jon, not so much in delight of finding his family but Sansa would swear in relief. ‘Jon…’ he only added before his eyes could travel to Brienne, Littlefinger -whose eyes betrayed displeasure and discomfort- and the rest. 'Your old freinds at the watch wanted to send you a raven of me crossing the Wall, but I would reach Winterfell safer if they didn't...' 

‘We need to talk… in private.’ Bran spoke the words loud enough only for Jon and Sansa to hear. 

Everything was a haze after that, the girl said she was a Reed, Sansa seemed to know of the offspring of House Reed, better than Jon did anyway, she had paid a lot of attention in Houses, sigils and names. He ordered people to take Bran inside, to his old chambers, where Maester Wolkan would check on him, a room and food for the girl as well. Everyone burst in activity, Bran demanded of a private talk but Sansa was in her overprotective state, wishing to take care of their baby brother. Jon wanted fiercely to believe it was him but doubt still ate at him, maybe an imposter, an enemy having sent the young man, he looked like Bran but at the same time he looked so different… But would Jon have believed Sansa to be herself as she had changed so much, would he have recognised his own self after what he’d been through? 

Jon and Sansa were ready to go back inside the castle, following the guards taking Bran and at the same time giving orders for the rest to return to their spots when Jon noticed Littlefinger taking Sansa’s hand in his, halting her. He stopped too, unable to hear and incredibly angry on Baelish’s low tone, like a snake hissing close to her face. The man’s eyes following Bran, falling upon Jon only for a second before turning his filthy gaze upon Sansa who remained stoic and took her hand away, nodding her head and moving closer to Jon who waited, leaving Littlefinger behind with a tiny smirk upon his face. 

‘Seeding strife inside your head?’ Jon asked, unable to hide the challenge from his tone. Sansa seemed tired, her own eyes shifting between Jon to Bran’s leading slide. 

‘Not now,’ Sansa mostly begged than demanded. 

‘Why he’s still here?’ Jon demanded, knowing this wasn’t the time but also hating Littlefinger around her or anywhere near her. He could have exiled him or at least sent him away but he’d never do such thing without consulting her, and she always had a plan, that plan included Littlefinger close to her no matter how Jon felt about that.

‘Because you told me Cersei Lannister has a thousand ships now… Because Daenerys Targaryen is with the Tyrrells, the Martels and the Greyjoys… Because you said we need allies…’ Sansa finally snapped while they still moved. She was right and he was petty for acting up like that, in a moment like this. He needed to be smarter while Sansa was trying to put her trust in him. 

Bran was taken in his old rooms and Sansa with Jon followed, waiting in the room’s solar while Bran took the hot bath he needed after so long in the snow. Jon and Sansa shared ale, waiting in each other’s company as everyone was kept outside the chambers.

‘He looks like Bran.’ Sansa pondered when the solar was occupied only by her and Jon. He nodded awkwardly, looking up at Sansa. 

‘How we’ll make sure he is?’ Jon wondered, looking at the familiar room he hadn’t visited in so long. Sansa sighed looking at Jon and nodding her head. 

‘I could ask him of the lullabies old Nan used to sing to him, of how I kept him in my arms when he was younger… Things I know about him and no one else could have known but himself.’ Sansa offered and Jon nodded. He looked at Sansa for a long moment, wondering if more hope would do good to her or if she’d be given too much of it. 

‘A raven came, I was about to tell you but…’

‘But you told me of going South and giving me the North, instead.’ Sansa pointed out and Jon sighed, he knew she wouldn’t accept his plan so easily, but for now he had to be honest with her, open and trusting. She would learn of it anyway, whoever had given the order, it had been clear on the spread of the word. He took a long gulp of his ale before he could set his cup on a nearby table, he looked at Sansa. 

‘Winter Came for House Frey…’ Jon finally announced, his voice soft, Sansa looked at him in disbelief - and pain. The question in Sansa’s eyes was evident, along with the worry over what she was about to hear. ‘Someone poisoned every male member of House Frey… the women were spared, one of them who stood witness to the slaughter says it was Walter Frey until…’ Jon hesitated, not sure how to go on, saying it out loud seemed more impossible than when he had read it on parchment. 

‘Until?’ Sansa demanded, closing in to Jon, waiting for an answer. Brienne had seen Arya, her hope after finding Bran couldn’t simply extinguish. 

‘Until somehow he ripped off his skin and a woman was revealed… a woman who ordered the Frey to spread the word that the North Remembers and that Winter came for House Frey.’ Jon added, this time weakly. Sansa couldn’t believe the last part no matter how loud it screamed of the House Stark words. How can a man change skin, how can a woman destroy the Freys when Robb and so many Northern Bannermen were killed with their weapons and all? 

Yet who would avenge the red Wedding if not someone from House Stark? What if Robb hadn’t died, or somehow his ghost avenged the murderers? What if somehow that woman was her Lady Mother? 

No, all these were tales stupid girls believed. There was an explanation behind it all, but now with Bran and everything happening in the South, Sansa didn’t have the mind to analyse and find the truth. Maybe Littlefinger would learn the truth behind the tale, maybe he had already known and decided not to tell her. 

‘Sansa…’ Jon tried to pull her out of her thoughts. ‘About before,’ he tried, referring to their heated conversation, about him giving the North over to her. She wouldn’t allow him to go away on his own, men of her family didn’t do well in the South. She had vowed to herself not to go South again but she would break her word if she was to be of any use to him before the Dragon Queen. Even if her heart flattered at how close she’d be to Cersei… She still remembered the roaring noise of wildefire lighting up Blackwater Bay, she still had nightmares about it, among other things. 

They were interrupted again as the guards finally left the bedchamber, along with the servants who had been called to assist Bran, crossing the solar, bowing to Jon and Sansa and leaving the rooms. They had to build a wheelchair for their young brother, first thing in the morning the order would be given, Sansa thought as she and Jon braced themselves and moved further in the bedchamber. Where Bran was sitting on his bed. A bigger bed for the young man too, Sansa thought as she looked at the grown man where her baby brother once slept. Their mother’s Wheel of the Seven was still hung on the headboard…

So much for their help, along with the help of the Old Gods upon their family. 

‘I can answer all the questions you might have thought of, to make sure it is me.’ Bran started, looking at Sansa, as if he had expected the method Sansa would use. ‘But first I have to tell you the truth.’ he added and this time looked at Jon who frowned as he barred the door of the bedchamber. ‘I am not Brandon Stark. I am the Three-Eyed Raven.’ 

Sansa had been ready to remind her baby brother he was the last trueborn son of Ned Stark. Jon was the King in the North but Bran would be Lord of Winterfell now. But Bran’s words only confused her further, she glanced at Jon who remained unsure and muted. 

‘I can never be Lord of Winterfell, I can never be Lord of Anything… I’m the Three-Eyed Raven.’ he repeated as if he had read her mind, his voice more and more impassive as Sansa felt more and more frustrated over his words and Jon’s lack of. 

‘I don’t know what that means…’ Sansa tried finally, more uncomfortable than angry, more scared than shocked. She approached Bran’s bed, like she used to do, when she was younger and he was a babe, all she could see was her brother. 

‘It’s difficult to explain…’ Bran added, looking back at Sansa who finally sat on the mattress and took his hand, holding it even if he didn’t squeeze back. 

‘Try, please, for me…’ Sansa urged, almost begged, her voice softening. 

‘It means I can see everything…’ Bran tried, his eyes again going on Jon. ‘Everything’s that ever happened… to everyone.’ His eyes focused on Sansa again. ‘Everything that’s happening right now. It’s all pieces now, fragments. I need to learn to see better… When the Long Night comes again, I need to be ready…’ Bran added, causing Jon to reach closer at the mention of things a boy on Bran’s age shouldn’t know of, not with such familiarity. 

‘How.... how do you know all this?’ Sansa asked, frowned, her own hand loose around Bran’s now. 

‘The Three Eyed Raven taught me,’ Bran explained without explanation, his words odd and unhelpful. 

’Who is that Three Eyed Raven?’ Sansa tried but Bran became more and more stoic, his eyes now completely focused on her. 

‘I told you it’s difficult to explain, but I am not here for this… I’m here because I must tell you things, things you must know.’ Bran tried. ‘Arya destroyed the Freys, she’s on her way home. She and I will remain here, I will pretend to be the Stark in Winterfell along her side while you two will go to Dragonstone together. You can’t separate from each other, not now, not ever.’ Bran added, Sansa this time stood on her own feet, next to Jon, towering over her baby brother. This wasn’t happening as she had expected, instead of her asking him who he was she was asking of what he had become. She felt uneasy, her hopes from before over Arya sounded like an ominous warning from his lips now.

‘Bran…’ Sansa tried again but this time Jon placed his body before her and Bran. Reaching closer to the young man. 

‘How do you know of these things?’ Ravens had been sent across the kingdoms but such knowledge to a wandering man was more than suspicious, unless he had been informed and sent by someone else from within the Kingdoms. 

‘I know of many things, one of them is the truth about you, Jon… About your mother and father.’ Bran added, looking at Jon this time whose breath became ragged, gruff. Sansa reached for his arm as she tried to move closer to Bran again, Jon didn’t let her, shielding her as if a crippled man could harm her. 

‘I know you don’t believe me… It’s hard anyway...’ Bran tried this time, looking at Sansa, his gaze a riddle. ‘I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you…’ he started and this time Sansa halted her effort to reach him, suddenly glad Jon stood between her and Bran. ‘I’m sorry it had to happen here...in our home.’ he added, the way he looked at her, as if reading through her, through the past, the darkest moments of her life. Sansa felt paralysed as Jon’s hand had reached hers around his arm,comforting her, in vain. Her stomach felt like dropping as the memories took life, no matter what he had vowed to herself over them. Bran’s eyes drifted towards the window of his chamber, it was snowing outside. ‘It was so beautiful that night… snow falling… just like now.’ Bran’s words had Sansa’s breath hitch at her throat as he looked back at her. ‘And you were so beautiful, in your white wedding dress…’ he added, only the people attending that awful night had seen her, most of them were dead or gone now… the way he talked, as if he had been there, seeing her, watching her. The way he spoke, she felt tears gathering in her eyes. 

‘Enough.’ Jon barked, completely shielding Sansa and looking at Bran. ‘Enough with these games.’ he added, Bran looked at Jon, calm, stoic. 

‘They are not games, they are the truth.’ Bran added and Jon didn’t have the time to speak a word more as Bran continued. ‘It was the boy’s knife that made your heart stop…’ he added and Sansa wished she could reach for Jon, only if she hadn’t been paralysed by the memory of her own downfall. ‘You need to know the truth.’ Bran added, seemingly unable to comprehend or at least feel for the pain he caused. 

‘You are not really my father’s son.’ Bran’s words were calm, causing a storm in Jon’s heart. ‘You’re the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt Lyanna Stark. You were born in a tower in Dorne, your last name isn’t really Snow and your first name isn’t Jon… Your true name is Aemon Targaryen.’ Bran’s words were met with silence, dire and painful, Sansa could feel Jon’s agitation as if it was her own, how quickly her own pain had quieted down only for his to ignite. The words were still in her brain like smoke, she was unable to have them settle down in her mind, let alone bleed open the truth in her heart. ‘Your friend Sam knows too of the marriage between Dragon and Wolf, at the Citadel, he has already seen the High Septon’s diary, he has seen of the secret union.’ Bran’s words finally set them in motion. ‘Ned Stark wanted to protect you because Lyanna had him swear upon her deathbed after labour-’

‘Jon!’ Sansa called out as he was already fleeing the room, storming outside. There was no way he would go through all this alone, Sansa was following him in a rush without even realising it. Leaving Bran behind who remained calm, as if he knew of what kind of reactions his words would cause.

People were already at their tail but Sansa somehow managed to wave them off, even Brienne obeyed, all frowned and worried but loyal. Nobody dared to follow the two wolves as they almost run, one at the wake of the other. Sansa knew where Jon was going, the place only Starks were allowed, even if he never felt like one, he belonged there by right and blood, even if dragonblood ran in his veins too. 

She didn’t call out for him, he wouldn’t listen nor stop. But he wouldn’t be left alone, even if he screamed at her for it, no, they had promised they’d stay together, they would get through it all together. 

This was the second time she was out in the cold in the same night. Concerns over grain storages, news of Cersei Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen felt as if they had happened a thousand years before and it was only when the moon had risen on the horizon, as she followed the black clad man before her into the Crypts, the moon shone bright in the middle of the starless sky, wolves howling were heard in the distance. 

The moist warmth of the crypts had Sansa exhaling as she entered the main corridor, when the sun had set, like every dusk, she had lit the candles on several graves. Her aunt Lyanna had always been included. Sansa had felt for her, abducted and abused, or so Sansa had thought until that night. She had been married to the Dragon, but had she been happy in her marriage or had she suffered like Sansa herself had? It mattered little now, the union had given fruit, a fruit her father had vowed to protect obviously against all, Robert Baratheon, the Seven Kingdoms, his own family and her Lady Mother who had lived a lie all her life, a lie that had made her a monster before a motherless boy. Sansa refused for Bran’s words to settle, for if they did, she would have to face another betrayal, another wound bleeding open. 

Jon stopped first before Lyanna’s statue, causing Sansa to halt before her father’s tomb. Silence engulfed them once more, their heavy breaths and drops falling on the wet stone floor the only sounds. The candlefire flickered over the stony figures, their features distorted in the low light, momentary making them look welcoming and for seconds; enigmatic, mocking, guarding their secrets with their burnt bones. 

‘Ned Stark lied to me all my life,’ Sansa’s eyes drifted closed at Jon’s tone, curt and gruff, pained. She nodded even if he couldn’t see her with his back turned to her, suddenly feeling the need to somehow excuse the most honorable fool she had the honor to be the daughter of. 

‘To us all,’ she whispered in regret, her eyes filling with tears again, the pain from the remindment of her banes paled before the pain she felt now. Her tearful gaze fell upon the statue of her own mother, an empty case at her feet as her body had never been recovered. Sansa’s eyes then moved to the tomb of Lyanna Stark, a case full of bones, brought along a baby after a war, an empty life standing in the form of stone, now faced by her only son. Had she suffered from start to end? Had she been forced to stay with the Targaryen Prince? 

Suddenly the tales felt like ugly history, painted in the blood of thousands. ‘To protect you.’ Sansa added, everything that had happened belonged in the past, she had kept telling herself over her family’s destiny, her own, if her father hadn’t lied, Jon’s bones would have accompanied those of her aunt’s. Ned Stark had lost his own father and siblings in the war, yet he had rescued his nephew and the North, becoming Warden of it while Robert Baratheon had taken the Iron Throne. 

_A generous payment for sticking with Robert in the rebellion against the Targaryens._ A tiny voice whispered in her head, she hushed it as she waited for Jon. If he wished to vent on her in the Stark’s name, she would take all the blows, she would hold him and comfort him while he raged, she would be there for him. 

_To protect you._

_I’ll protect you, I promise._

Sansa’s words had Jon’s eyes closing, achingly so as he tried hard not to break down. The smell of candles and moisture invading his senses as he stood before his mother’s tomb. How far Ned Stark had reached to keep his promise to his sister? How far Jon would have reached, was willing to reach to keep his own to Sansa? He hated how that little sense of understanding made it all the more painful, more real and familiar. 

How far would he go if Sansa made him swear something on her deathbed?

How far would he go if he could have prevented Sansa’s fate, it was out of luck she didn’t end up bleeding to death after giving birth to a Bolton. 

Would Jon have loved and protected a child made of such union? A child that killed Sansa in childbed, a child born by an enemy and a woman so dear in his heart? 

Ned had, he had put Jon over everyone, no matter what.

So much for Jon’s hopes over his mother being out there somewhere. So much for all those years of him wondering if she was alive, searching or wanting him while she had been there all along, beneath his feet, dead and cold, burnt bones and stony face, because of him. How long he had felt ashamed to come to the Crypts of the Starks, feeling a bastard, only half a Stark, only now to learn he both had the right to be there because of his mother and out of it because of his sire. 

His hands had clenched into fists, trembling, one moved to his lips, in a desperate attempt to hold the sobs at bay. Tears of agony, of pain, of disappointment and disgust. 

He was a Targaryen. 

Like that Dragon Queen with the three beasts at Dragonstone. The one rumor had it; she crucified and burnt people alive. The daughter of the Mad King, the same Mad King who roasted Lyanna’s brother and father at King’s Landing. 

Had he carried the Targaryen madness when he killed a boy younger than Bran? When he betrayed vows, when he lusted after his own half-sister. 

_Cousin_

The sob finally escaped his lips, unable to hold it back no matter how hard he bit down on his fist. The turmoil a painful knife in his gut, worse than the one that killed his heart. Sansa was soon reaching for him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him as more sobs ripped through his lips, his own arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, her familiar form, her scent comforting him more than anything he could have imagined he’d need to ease the pain. 

He wasn’t a Snow and he wasn’t a Stark, yet he was a Targaryen, of mad blood and dragonfire. 

He didn’t dare think of what that meant for Daenerys Targaryen and the rest of the world. He didn’t dare consider the Lords of the North learning of the parentage of the King they chose. The North would hate him, the Mother of Dragons would want him dead if he got in her way for the Iron Throne and the Kingdoms she wished to conquer while he wanted none of this. He only wished to stay North, in his home, keep warm, protect Sansa and be at peace. All the forbidden things he had buried in his heart as a bastard and brother of the Watch, over children born bastards and a wife were suddenly allowed and more forbidden than ever. He would never doom a child of his to be hunted down by his enemies. No matter if he had dreamed of a son named Robb. 

‘You’re a Stark to me,’ Sansa’s words came from somewhere between their collided bodies, her lips against his neck, her breath hot, warming his bones, repeating what she had told him in the barracks. ‘You are Stark because of Lyanna, you belong here,’ she added as she sensed he’d counter her words over his father. ‘You were raised in the North, your mother was a lady of the North, you’re a Stark.’ Sansa added, almost trying to persuade both. ‘Like I am Stark, no matter who I had to marry and take their names, no matter what happened to me, to Robb or my own father. We’re the last of the Starks.’ Sansa added and Jon could only tighten his arms around her. She was trueborn and noble, beautiful and pure no matter the impurities that vile beast had done to her. 

‘We’ll keep this a secret, we’ll fight the war and we’ll win,’ Jon finally whispered against her hair, feeling her nodding. ‘And we’ll keep the North safe.’ he added, trying to find perspective again, trying to believe in Sansa’s adamant faith in him, using it as an anchor for himself. 

Sansa finally pulled slightly away, they were still engulfed in each other’s arms. 

_Cousins_

The same thought flickered through their minds, shone in their eyes, with a touch less of guilt and repulse on what they didn’t dare to admit they felt. There was no time for this, the oceans were full of krakens, the rest of the kingdoms were full of enemies, roaring lions and vipers… the skies were taken by dragons. 

_We need to trust each other._

Jon’s parentage had to remain a secret, what was happening between them was dangerous for both, now more dangerous than ever…

They had to play the game of thrones or their world would burn, if the Long Night wasn’t to consume it first in darkness and ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooook I hope you enjoyed this! I wanted to focus very much on the parentage and jon and how he would deal with it if it was Sansa around him and not the dragonshit crazy lady close by... how he would relate to things that hapened to lyanna and sansa (because they have unhappy circumstances in their marriages to enemies of the starks, even if lyanna loved rheagar and wasn't forced to marry him like sansa with bolton, she ended up in tragedy) and I needed Jon to see Ned through a different lense, to face his feelings because he's fucking human and his parentage MATTERS  
> I also wanted Sansa there, almost instinctively ready to take the punches that never come, betrayed and lied to just like jon, this parentage reveal matters for her too (D&D could have at least showed their reaction) and she put Jon before her at that moment BECAUSE THE PARENTAGE REVEAL IS IMPORTANT FOR JON and then for her and she can't blame anyone for this so she simply does what she's been doing for so long, gluing his family back together  
> i wanted this to be a mix of sansa-bran scene and bran-sam and sam-jon moments from the show only put together the proper way and making it all about jon and then jon and sansa and the rest, also I was rewatching episodes and bran revealed to the ed from the night watch, curious how no one thought of sending a fucking raven to the king in the north informing him a fucker here claims to be your baby brother.... WTF  
> they will try to put their feelings for each other to the side, for sure they will try but will they succeed?  
> NO muhahahaha  
> next chapter, plans on how to deal with he northern lords over their departure for Dragonstone and MAYBE another arrival....  
> because I can't believe Arya fucked up the Twins and no word reached anyone, like wtf....  
> comments are love ;)


	4. Trust Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are, in less than a week? a new chapter and a big one at that, I hope you will all like it :)

Chapter Four - Trust Each Other

Sansa had learnt Jon well, better than he had expected anyone to care about, maybe better than himself. After their embrace, the moment of serenity following Bran’s revelation, she had promised she’d go back to Bran. They still had so much to learn, but she had given Jon time to recuperate at the Crypts, he had needed the space and the time. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since she left, time felt like melting in the Crypts. His eyes had remained on Lyanna’s form, his mother, who had run with Rheagar, who had married him and had a son in time of war. Had she been happy? If so, had she realised that her happiness made the kingdoms bleed? Was she abducted, raped and forced to marry by Rheagar? Was she another victim like the thousands who got tangled in a mess that led to a rebellion and the ultimate fall of the Targaryen House from the Iron Throne? Suddenly, the case of her suffering gave her an alibi over the civil war of the Seven Kingdoms. Was Rheagar a monster or a man in love who valued his heart over everything else? He had been the Crown Prince, had a wife and children already. Maester Aemon had told him as well, that old wise man Jon had no idea he was related to; back then, a man he shared the same name with. Jon knew of the details of the rebellion, it was common knowledge in the North, the fucking dragon who plucked the winter rose, taken her away, drowned the kingdoms in blood for that. Either a rapist or a man in love, he sounded awful all the same for dooming his realm in blood. 

What would happen if all this was out in the open? How would the North react if they knew he’s a Targaryen, if they knew he carried the same tendencies as his father for a Stark woman. 

_“What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”_

_Sansa_

The guilt was hot in Jon’s veins, along the scalding realisation, crippling him, leaving him breathless. He didn’t want such parentage nor sire, he didn’t want the dragonblood, even if it elevated the sin of wanting his own sister, he would prefer to bleed out if he could take away such lineage, keep only the Stark blood of his mother. The blood he shared with Sansa, instead of that shared with the Dragon Queen who expected him in Dragonstone with Gods-only-know what intentions. 

Jon finally moved towards the statue of Ned Stark, the father he had thought he shared with Sansa and the rest of her siblings. He had put him above anything else, he had brought him North, raised him within his Keep as his own bastard, jeopardising his honor and his marriage. Causing Catelyn so much grief over a mistake he never made. Jon’s eyes momentarily moved to her own statue. He felt pity, over the guilt and the pain, the sense of betrayal and the pain she had reflected upon him for Ned’s deeds. Only if she had known, Jon had seen how good of a mother she had been to her children, if his fath- if Ned had told her the truth, maybe she would have loved him, she certainly wouldn’t have died hating him. 

He took a deep, shaky breath, sensing a presence of the living approaching him. It wasn’t Sansa and it couldn’t be Bran, he felt the annoyance before he heard the voice of Baelish, sleek and smooth, sickening to Jon’s stomach. 

‘I delivered his bones myself…’ the words caused Jon to look at Ned’s statue, not wishing to lay his gaze upon the vermin. ‘Presented them to Catelyn as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister.’ Jon fought the urge to scoff, another man who had harmed his family, because the Starks were Jon’s family, because Sansa insisted, by blood, the Starks were his family. ‘Seems like a lifetime ago…’ Littlefinger added as he finally neared Jon and stopped before the statue Jon hadn’t looked away from. ‘I was sorry when he died.’ he added and Jon bit on his inner cheek to keep a retort, Sansa had told him he needed to be smarter, he would listen to her. ‘Your father and I had our differences but he loved Cat very much.’ Littlefinger added, almost talking to himself, or he at least pretended to. ‘So did I.’ that felt like an echo of his thoughts, maybe the only moment the traitor spoke true words. ‘She wasn’t fond of you, was she?’ Baelish turned and looked at Jon, planting discord, digging the dead, hitting the living where he thought they’d be vulnerable. ‘As it appears she vastly underestimated you, your father and brothers are gone, yet here you stand King in the North.’ Jon finally turned and looked at the other man, he wondered how many similar things he had told Sansa, to make sure he manipulated her, declaring her titles while he undermined her life. Was this the way he made her distrusting? She had fallen in Jon’s arms with no fear or second thought, back at Castle Black, but then she had kept silent about the Knights of the Vale Baelish commanded. ‘Last best hope against the coming storm…’ he finally added and Jon felt the company of the man was digracing, especially while he tried to get to his good side in vain, in a place like the Crypts. 

‘You don’t belong down here.’ Jon reminded him, no matter how the fucking turncloak wished to, by marrying Sansa, maybe becoming a Stark through her position. 

‘Forgive me, we have never talked properly... I wanted to remedy that.’ Littlefinger didn’t seem deterred by Jon’s hostile tone, maybe he had been used to this kind of treatment. 

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ Jon concluded, turning to leave. He had enough.

‘Not even thank you?’ The question gave Jon pause, he felt hot anger running in his veins, coiling in his belly like melted metal. ‘Without me you would have been slaughtered in that battlefield.’ 

_“We’re standing here because of you, the battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in… they came because of you.”_

_Sansa_

‘You have many enemies, my King but I swear to you, I’m not one of them.’ 

_‘You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons… and you trust him?”_

_“Only a fool would trust Littlefinger… I’m sorry. I should have told you about him...”_

‘I love Sansa, as I loved her mother-’ those words made it, nostrils flaring, Jon twisted his body, every muscle tingling in fury, heart racing, his vice grip closing around the slim man’s skinny throat before he could even blink, Jon thrust him against the wall with a wolfish snarl. For a moment he pondered upon killing the Lord Paramount of the Vale, if he only smashed the man’s jugular. 

Jon couldn’t be smarter, he failed Sansa whenever it came down to her, when it came to unworthy men lusting after her. 

_He would protect her, he had promised._

_Cousins_

_‘_ Touch my sister and I’ll kill you myself.’ Jon growled the warning, spitting the word “sister” for the lie it was now, an agonizing moment later; he released Baelish from his grasp. Leaving him behind to catch his breath, cough and ponder on the warning while Jon returned to his cousins, to his only family. 

He moved outside, the crisp wind rejuvenating him, the world had to go on, he had to go on. The Dead were coming, allies were needed. They had to survive. And he had to learn everything he could from Bran, these powers could be proven useful, he needed to know more. 

His steps led him back to Bran’s old rooms, Briene was waiting outside, dutifully expecting Sansa. Jon wondered for a moment how Sansa’s shield, the guards, everyone would react to him being a Targaryen. He sighed, trying to chase away the thought as he entered Bran’s chambers, finding Sansa on a chair by Bran’s bed. Her eyes searched his immediately, as they had used on doing the past moons. She clearly sensed his unease, the lingering fury, but she said nothing, knowing how much he had been through that day.

‘Littlefinger gave me this… when you left for the Crypts.’ Bran said, his voice stoic as he withdrew a dagger from his lap, Valyrian steel. ‘The dagger had been used at the attempt on my life. He said he’s here to protect our mother’s children… But Arya is on the way… She will have it, she has to. He held that very dagger to our father’s throat.’ Bran mused and Jon and Sansa weren’t actually sure on how to react to the man’s words. All this was evidence against Littlefinger, but they needed time. They would have to get used to the oddity that now veiled over Bran, for he gave information that would solidify their rule and wipe out their enemies… 

‘Littlefinger would never give something without an exchange, he’s after something.’ Sansa pointed out, her overprotectiveness evident for her baby brother. Bran only nodded. 

‘I know that,’ Bran only nodded, looking at Sansa. ‘He will follow you to Dragonstone. He’s still an asset to us for the Vale, until you take over.’ Bran instructed, Sansa couldn’t help but feel validated by Bran's demand of her following Jon. It was a while ago when she was fighting her way to Dragonstone, and losing. 

‘Bran… Sansa shouldn’t come with me, it’s too dangerous.’ Jon tried and Sansa glared at her cousin, she couldn’t help but change what he was to her now, for it meant the world, literally. 

‘She has to, your humility won’t be enough, nor the council of Ser Davos… Sansa will be your armor and you will be her sword.’ Bran deadpanned, Sansa rose from her seat. 

‘And what about Winterfell?’ Jon demanded, ignoring her furious eyes and the sensation of need, along the fear for her life that tingled in his bones. ‘What about her organising the storages for Winter?’ She glared at him and his cheap attempt to obstruct Bran’s plan, she had mentioned the grain storages and he would have given her all the power in the North, the North itself, if it meant she wouldn’t follow him in danger. 

Sansa was good with words, diplomacy was needed, what did he have to offer but aggression and some pleading over a legend coming to kill them all? Daenerys Targaryen hadn’t been raised in Westeros, and even if she had, only the Northerners heard the tales of the Whitetwalkes, believing them in the dread of the cold nights. To the rest of the world, it was an old nans’ tale. He hadn’t formed a full plan on persuading the Targaryen to give him the dragonglass, to make her come North with the Dragons but all he knew was that he didn’t want Sansa jeopardised if he failed. If somehow, his parentage was to be revealed.

‘I will play the role of the Lord of Winterfell, I will take care of everything, since I can see it all, and although I believed Arya would reach Winterfell sooner… I’ve sent her something, something she must reconcile with, before her return…’ Bran’s riddles were strange, creating more questions than answering the already existing ones. 

‘Arya is alive… what is she doing and not coming home?’ Sansa tried the question on her tongue. Arya must have heard word of their home being under Stark rule again, if only she had the time to see her before departing for Dragonstone. It was mere moons ago when Sansa had believed she had been left alone in the world, now her pack was being formed again. 

‘I sent her Nymeria…The wolves will come again.’ Bran only offered and Sansa remained silent for a moment. Her long fingers touched her lips as she looked at Bran and then turned at Jon who looked back at her, not sure what to expect. 

‘Bran will be Lord of Winterfell….’ Sansa repeated, Jon sighed, his cousin could play King if he wished to, he was a trueborn Stark after all and Jon had never wanted the crown. ‘While a bastard King and a defiled daughter will go to Dragonstone…’ Sansa added. Jon protested almost in instinct, not for his bastardy -that now wasn’t legit but no one could know outside that room- but for the way she spoke of herself. Sansa reached Jon, taking his hand, her eyes imploring him to understand what she could see crystal clear. ‘He wants us to go and play the game while he establishes the rule of the Starks here… until we return, Jon.’ Sansa tried but Jon sighed, finding hard to imagine Sansa in such grave danger when she could stay behind at their home’s safety. 

‘The North still tries to trust us, you remember how Lyanna Mormont spoke to me, a Lannister, a Bolton…I’m still an unsolved issue to them, that’s why they chose you over me to rule the North...’ Sansa pointed out, her tone holding no hostility or spite. ‘To them you are a Bastard, soft for sparing Umber and Karstark, unyielding with all your worries over the dead…They chose you before Bran showed up…and they did after much strife. Bran can play the role for a while, establish the Stark rule, while we are away, and if we fail, a Stark will still be at Winterfell, a male one at that. If Arya reaches Winterfell too, trueblood and unmarried Starks will be here instead of us, the inconveniences... ‘ Sansa offered and Jon this time reached for Sansa, hating the ugly truth in her words. 

‘They’re loyal to us,’ Jon pointed out, it was Sansa who had told Davos Northerners are different, more loyal.

‘They are, and we ask them to go to yet another war, maybe the greatest, before the army of the dead… They were loyal to Robb too right after ou- my father’s demise, once he fell, they scattered at best, united with our enemies at worst… They need to look up to the Stark house and see one of Ned Stark’s children keeping them strong while we go and struggle for them like they did for us…They will protest and distrust us if you go on your own, the King in the North must be in the North…and they will think I’m going South to yield to my first husband if I go on my own… But if we go together, on the true pledge of the search for allies while the Lord of Winterfell stays behind with the birthright intact in case we fall, the North will stand strong.’ Sansa offered and this time she turned around and looked at Bran. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’ she asked for confirmation and Bran nodded.

‘You two cannot be separated,’Bran stated, looking outside again. ‘The priests see visions out there, in the flames, in the smoke... on the isles and across the Narrow Sea, they prophesied over Ice and Fire coming together… they will foolishly think this will happen when Jon meets Daenerys but the truth is different…’ Bran finally turned and looked at Jon and Sansa. ‘You two cannot be separated for Ice and Fire are not about a union, but about destruction. You have to go to Dragonstone together, you have to return together…’ Bran looked deep into Jon’s eyes, the young King wondered if all this was something Bran had seen as a potential outcome, how bad things would go if he went alone to Dragonstone?

‘Everything I see stops once you have returned and I don’t know why, but until then, we might have succeeded, until He reaches us with his army. I will stay behind, continue to learn at the tree, watch over you… Arya will be here, she’s not a Lady but she will play the part too, for our family.’’ Bran’s words were ominous, scary. Jon took Sansa’s hand, drawing her attention to him, he wasn’t sure how he could actually stop her from coming with him. After everything Bran told them. He had to give in, he had to trust this strange man his baby cousin had turned to, he had to trust Sansa she would survive all this like she trusted him now with her home and every secret she had kept.

 _“We need to trust each other, we have so many enemies now.”_ They were going to the jaws of one, maybe the most dangerous of all. Before he told everyone of the dead and before anyone else, while they were still pariahs in their own lands, Sansa had believed him. Like she believed in him now that he was a Targaryen, his blood humming with everything he still didn’t dare face. 

His cousin, Sansa. 

Not sister, not even half of it. 

‘Meera Reed…’ Bran spoke the name before a knock on the door could be heard. ‘Her father was there… The day Lyanna Stark gave birth to you, Jon, he fought with our father against Rhaegar Targaryen and his guards.’ Both Jon and Sansa were looking at Bran, this time, Sansa squeezing Jon’s hand in comfort. ‘Rheagar fought for his wife, he loved her and she loved him. For what comfort or grief this might give you, you deserve the truth.’ Bran added, Sansa turned slowly, regarding Jon silently as he gulped, pulled back into the pain of the revelation. He finally nodded. 

‘Her father had known,’ Jon whispered. 

‘Sworn to secrecy by my father.’ Bran answered Jon’s question. ‘I will summon him here however, we need every man we can get. Maybe you will want to talk to him when you’re back.’ Bran added. ‘Come in!.’ he finally called and Meera entered the chambers, looking unsurely at the three royals of the North. She had bathed too, changed into a comfortable plain dress and had returned to what seemed her place for a long time now, Bran’s side. 

‘Lady Meera,’ Sansa offered, hoping she sounded welcoming, the girl had saved her brother from whatever they had faced beyond the Wall. Her father was the only one along with Sam and the three of them who knew of Jon’s parentage, all people awake of the truth had to be under Stark rule. Jon had told her Sam was on his own way to Winterfell, having left the citadel. ‘We’re in debt to you for taking care of our brother, for bringing him back to us.’ Sansa offered and Meera gave a weak smile, comfort flickering in those warm eyes. 

‘I should soon return home, my Lady.’ Meera offered but Sansa smiled, from her odd brother to her sulking cousin, she was the most welcoming, especially when it came to comforting words. 

‘We will soon have to depart, King Jon and I.’ Sansa started, unable to hold back the triumph in her voice, she’d swear she heard Jon click his tongue at it. ‘It would be our honor if you stayed, Winter is upon us, if it was for your father and his men to reach us here… we need every man before the fight against the dead. King Jon will send the summon for them to bring every grain supply they might have, like the rest of the Northern Houses will do. Please do feel Winterfell as your home while you stay and wait for him.’ Sansa finally smiled at the girl who only bowed and thanked Sansa, she smiled at Bran who only nodded back. 

It was days later when the Northern council had taken place. The Lords had been informed of the dragonglass they would all have to dig and find across the North, for the food that had to get gathered at Winterfell. For everyone allowed to take shelter at the capital of the North before the upcoming wars. They had also been informed of Jon and Sansa’s departure to Dragonstone and there had been outcries of anger, screams of protest and murmurs of consent, whispers of logic, silent nods of understanding. 

_“A Targaryen cannot be trusted!”_ Had it been Lord Roryce or someone else who said the words? Sansa couldn’t remember at that moment. She only remembered Jon’s darkening eyes at the sound of the words, the underlined guilt, the true in it _“Nor can a Lannister,”_ her own skin had turned tough at the words. Her first husband was now Hand to a foreign Queen, a Queen Sansa and Jon would meet soon. Sansa wouldn’t be surprised if specific Northern Lords who wished to marry their sons off to Sansa would second guess her own loyalty to House Stark.

Bran had been right, she and Jon had to move away from the North for a while, allow everyone to adjust and learn to trust House Stark without the triggers of the past swaying them. 

Bran, her baby brother, brought to them by young Meera. Sansa wondered how it felt, to have this barrier between the man you look at the way Meera looked at Bran, hitting against the barrier. Did she look at Jon the same way herself? Was she courageous enough to get over the barrier? What would that mean for the world? What would happen if everyone learnt of his parentage and her feelings for him? How tainted those feelings were since they started a long time ago, while she still considered him her brother? 

Sansa took a shuddering breath, her hand touching the trunk of the tree with the face, the weirwood leaves were all around her despite the dead of winter. She was dressed in her riding cloak, it was a matter of time until she left the godswood, joined her party and left Winterfell once again. She had fought so hard for her home and now she was leaving it again, with Jon, just the way she had reclaimed it. Only now she left Bran behind, alive, instead of bringing Rickon to bury him in the crypts.

Baelish had been right, she had to look to the future. Only he had no idea what he had talked about under that same tree, a few days ago. A motherless bastard Jon was no more, she wasn’t the only child of her father alive anymore, two more were out there. Littlefinger had failed to cause discord between herself and Jon and she was done being manipulated by him. She had Jon and Bran and soon she would have Arya too, and she swore to the Gods, she would find a way to punish the man who created so much strife among the Houses for his own gain. If he didn’t find a way to take her down now that she wasn’t the Key to the North, not his key at least. She would ensure Jon’s parentage would remain a secret. If not, the information would be out only if it suited them, only if it meant their freedom, the North’s best. 

‘Sansa,’ At the sound of her name from his voice, Sansa wondered, was Petyr one of those evil spits old nan used to warn the Stark children about, if you thought too hard on them, they might appear on you. She suppressed the sigh, only exhaling from her nose as she turned and saw his cold smile, he knew she was slipping through his fingers. Yet, he couldn’t know more than that, if he did, the information she held so dear to her heart would be turned into a curse of both she and Jon would be doomed by. ‘We’re ready to depart, my Lady.’ Littlefinger offered, his tone slick, his tongue silver. Sansa nodded, ready to make a step but Petyr remained on her way, she halted and looked at him, her face a mask of indiference. ‘I know your dear brother is taking us in the search of Dragonglass to defeat the dead… But you mustn’t forget Cersei Lannister, Sansa.’ the man warned her and Sansa made a step back, regarding him cooly. 

‘You think I can forget the woman who killed my father, mother and brother?’ Sansa wondered angrily, the time of him passing her for stupid had been over and she was losing patience. 

‘What I meant to say…’ Littlefinger tried again but Sansa interrupted him. 

‘That Cersei is dangerous...I figured that out a long time ago and I am sure she wants my head on a spike…’ Sansa replied, the momentary flicker of fear in the man’s eyes both validated his feeling for Sansa and the truth of her own words over what Cersei wished for her end to be like. ‘Thank you for the wise counsel.’ she added and was ready to leave once again but Littlefinger made a step to the side, stopping her once again. 

‘Two things would happen…’ he tried, keeping his hands to himself, if it was in the past, he would have already grabbed at her forearms, maybe even hug and kiss her while she’d remain frozen and dazed. Those days were over as well. ‘Either the dead would defeat the living, in which case all our troubles come to an end...Or life will win out and what then?’ Baelish wondered, Sansa watched him, wishing to see where he wanted to reach this time. 

‘Don’t fight in the North… or the South.’ His voice was raspy, rarely honest. ‘Fight every battle, everywhere, always in your mind.’ His words were now serious, his gaze ruthless, a coldness worse than that of Northern nights upon his eyes. ‘Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend, every possible series of events is happening, all at once… Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you’ve seen before…’ She hated the insanity of the prospect, the way his mind worked, the way she had to function to survive the game. But she was to travel South again, a whisper away from Cersei, basically on the other side of Blackwater Bay… She would meet dragons there, lions, fully blown roses with thorns and krakens, vipers… And she was going there with a traitor like Littlefinger at her back, traitors like Umber and Karstark at her heel…. At the side of a dragonwolf in the disguise of a bastard wolf and the world’s survival at the stake. 

_Ice and Fire_

_Fire and Ice_

_Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I’ve tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire_.

She started moving away from Baelish, exiting the Godswood on shaky legs. The biggest game of her life, maybe she was going straight to her demise, maybe Bran was the ultimate traitor, getting rid of the rotten parts of House Stark. Maybe she was spoiled beyond repair anyway, following the hidden Targaryen son, together they could save or crush the Kingdoms and themselves. 

If they did the same Lyanna and Rheagar had done, if they gave in to their passion and desire. 

_But if it had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice._

‘Are you alright?’ Jon’s warm, worried voice pulled her back to reality as he reached for her at the entrance of the Godswood. She searched his eyes, worry, fear and unease mirrored her own in those dark grey orbs she had grown to know and read so well, the feelings there somehow grounded her all over again. 

Even if the world was to fall upon them, if fire was to be rained down upon them or ice was to be the dirt over their bodies, at least they would be together until the end.

Sansa finally smiled at Jon, trully, time slowed down only for a few moments as the activity around them was frantic. Littlefinger was emerging from the Godswood, Sansa was sure as Jon’s eyes darkened in anger, glancing somewhere behind her before turning back at her, softening for her, the trust evident in. 

‘I am,’ Sansa replied. ‘I am,’ she repeated, taking his hand as he escorted her towards her brother who was sat on his newly made wheelchair. She kissed Bran on the cheek and lowered slightly to caress Ghost who would remain behind to guard the Lord of Winterfell. Bran had requested so and Jon wasn’t willing to take a direwolf so far South anyway. Jon bid Bran goodbye and took Sansa towards her white mare and helped her on the saddle. She smiled at Jon and he -after a moment of looking up at her, their eyes locking, communicating louder than any word could help them understand each other, sighing and patting the neck of her horse- Jon smiled back. He was also worried, scared, suffocating, she knew, but they had to play the game, they had to try, for the North, for the people of it and each other, for House Stark. 

‘Aye, alright,’ Jon finally offered as he looked around them. Everyone was ready, he nodded behind Sansa and she was sure it was at Brienne and Davos to remain close by. 

Bannermen, guards, noble traitors and newly appointed knights from House Stark started trotting towards Winterfell’s gates with Jon and Sansa at the head of the party. 

The flags with the Stark direwolf waving as they started for White Harbor and from there, to Dragonstone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was littlefinger heavy but please bare with me because I had to include him, I will try to work with all characters, I also needed him to be there as another element for jonsa to become a united front and leave while Bran stands behind and plays his own role... we had a lot of information here and a lot of uncomfortable truths, we saw how the northerners acted while jon was away (before he gave them good reason to) and i wanted Sansa to see through that, she suffered in the hands of the boltons while good honourable traitors stood by and watched and she won't forget that easily....   
> Bran's character is different here his existence will play a pivotal role for the rest of the fic and HOWLAND REED will at least appear damn it!   
> off we go for Dragonstone!!! I think before reaching the Dragon Queen and everyone surrounding her, we'll have a chapter on their way there because I cannot deal with the speed jon reached dragonstone lol I get whiplash :P  
> comments are love and you know you love me a bit :*  
> until next time, stay safe, guys!


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